A Clamor of Wings

By Cassandra Hamm

Mandla is agitated today.

The iksomi’s feathered wings spread to at least twenty paces in width. They block out the bluish light of the twin suns as he stalks across the black sand dunes. When I take a hesitant step forward, Mandla makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat, revealing long, curved teeth.

That beast will destroy you. Nan’s words haunt me each time I visit Mandla. What did I do to earn me such a foolish son?

I channel the suns’ warmth to fuel my cry. It rings out across the desert, clear and calming and nonthreatening. Though Mandla’s ears twitch, he doesn’t relax. His tail traces lines in the sand.

Hands shaking, I force myself to take even, steady breaths. Perhaps I should return when he is stable. But if I come only when he is safe, I am no friend.

Mandla’s eyes shift to something behind me, his lavender fur prickling. Now I hear it—the subtle shifting of sand, the rasping of shallow breaths. I left my spear behind a hosela bush so as not to agitate Mandla, but now I long for its solid weight in my hands.

I slowly rotate. A tall girl glides toward us with long, graceful movements, like water flowing along a streambed.

My stomach sinks. She always followed me around in the village; I should’ve known she’d do the same on my sound excursions.

“Amahle?” I say through gritted teeth. “What in the name of the suns are you doing here?”

Mandla growls again.

Amahle strides closer. My sister is sixteen—two sun-cycles fewer than me—and she should not be here. “I wanted to see the beast, Kholwa,” she says.

Mandla snarls, cold and thick. Amahle halts, clutching her spear. Mandla’s tail lashes like a whip in a slave driver’s hands, back, forth, back, forth. Heat trickles down my back. I should make some sort of calming noise, but my mind utterly blanks. All I can think about is my heartbeat, thudding as fierce as a monsoon pounding the sand.

Mandla’s crazed yellow eyes lock on my sister’s weapon. “Drop your spear,” I hiss.

She gives me a look but complies. It thumps against the sand. Mandla’s nostrils flare.

“Also, his name is Mandla,” I say tightly. “Not beast.”

“Strength. It is a good name.”

Mandla doesn’t move, just watches the two of us with slitted eyes.

“Go back to the village, Amahle.” I fight to keep my voice from wobbling. I’ve watched the iksomi, listened to their communications, imitated them as best I could. Amahle has done no such thing, and that might just condemn us both to an early grave.

“You always say that our tribe can be at peace with the iksomi.” Though she holds her chin high, her hands tremble. “Yet how can that be if no one else is allowed near them?”

Mandla’s wings fold in, letting the suns’ full rage assault our already darkened skin. I scarcely dare to breathe as his muscles tense, ready to pounce.

He won’t hurt us. 

He won’t hurt us.

He won’t.

“Kholwa?” Amahle’s voice pitches high.

“Don’t panic.” I keep my tone soft and even. “He reacts to fear.”

Though her throat bobs up and down, she somehow manages sarcasm. “Make one of your sounds, brother. Isn’t that your specialty?”

My lips tighten into a thin line. “I can’t think when you’re distracting me!”

Mandla’s paw slides forward, his claws digging into the sand as a low growl emits from his black lips. Up closer, I’m reminded of how big he is—almost as tall as me, with legs as thick as my torso.

Terror blooms in my chest, red-hot, like an arrowhead driving into my skin.

“I didn’t mean that.” Amahle bites her lip. “Your ability to mimic is… incredible.”

I don’t have time to think about her sentiment right now, but she’s right—if we’re to escape, I must make some sort of sound to calm Mandla. If only I knew how he communicates with his cubs—I’ve never approached them for fear he might attack me. But when he’s with his mate, his raspy purr is full of warmth, the sounds low and gentle. I inhale, preparing to imitate.

“Kholwa.” Amahle’s whisper breaks my concentration.

I shoot her an irritated glance, but her eyes are locked on Mandla, her expression unreadable. “You never told me he was so beautiful.”

I falter. It’s almost unthinkable—my sister, named beautiful one, describing a beast our tribe fears as one of beauty. Perhaps she has greater sight than I’d given her credit for.

I’ve judged her too harshly, just like Nan judges me. Amahle is no longer the child who stole my helping of sweet irayisi when I looked away. She is the young woman who stayed by my side when everyone else thought me strange and sound-obsessed. We are blood bonded.

That is the feeling I must channel—the love my little sister showed me.

Mandla narrows his piercing golden eyes at me, his lip curled, teeth bared.

I exhale, thinking of the warm, gentle sense of belonging and smooth, constant loyalty Amahle always showed me. I emit a low purr, trying to say, Love. I love her. She is my kin.

Then, Amahle does something I never expected—she purrs too. It’s raspy and low and not quite right, but it’s a start.

Mandla’s nose twitches, then his tail. The sand shifts beneath his massive paws. I fight the urge to run. Amahle’s hand slips into mine and squeezes so hard I almost cry out. Thump thump, goes my heart.

Mandla spreads his wings, blocking out the bluish light once more. I shrink back, but instead of buffeting me with his powerful wings, he wraps them around us, covering us in musky-scented feathers.

Amahle gasps. “Kholwa!”

She doesn’t need to say anything else. I know what she means.

Perhaps we are still in danger, but I’ve never felt so alive.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm is a psychology nerd, jigsaw puzzler, art collector, and hopeless romantic who spends most of her time lost in another world. She loves mothering her two kittens, Keefe and Chase, named after her favorite middle grade heroes. Her work appears in various anthologies, including Havok’s collections, Warriors Against the Storm, When Your Beauty is the Beast, The Depths We’ll Go To, Aphotic Love, Exquisite Poison, and The Lady in the Tower.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram